


See Something You Like?

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Community: fullmoon_ficlet, Deputy Derek Hale, Getting Together, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Suits, Uniforms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 18:06:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15200453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: Stiles has been home for three days and Derek's not entirely sure where they stand. But he's got a case to distract him... the FBI's here on a case and oh wait... look who Rafe's new magical expert is. And DAMN Stiles looks good in a suit.





	See Something You Like?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [froggydarren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/froggydarren/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Welcome Home, Stiles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15200120) by [triggeringthehealing (froggydarren)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/froggydarren/pseuds/triggeringthehealing). 



> This was originally written for prompt #283 Uniform at fullmoon ficlet. It was also written as a sequel to froggydarren's piece for this week (Which you should go read FIRST and leave love!!). Also this is literally hot off the fingertips, unedited and unbetaed. Um. Hopefully it's relatively typo free because the dog needs to be walked Right Now. *sighs*

Stiles has been home for three days, and Derek’s seen him seven times. Twice the first day: when he walked into the station looking for his dad, and later that night for dinner. Three times each successive day: once when Stiles brought breakfast for his dad at the station, and just happened to have enough to sit down in the break room with Derek and Jordan, once when Stiles brought lunch and again brought extra, and again for dinner, back at Derek’s loft.

He’s seen a lot of Stiles.

And he still has no idea what’s going on.

Derek feels like this should be easier. He caught the scent of Stiles’s interest flaring when he saw him in the uniform that first day, and the same scent has lingered in the air around him ever since. Derek flirted—and he’s not even exactly why that started, just that the words felt right in that moment.

He’s pretty sure Stiles flirted back.

But neither of them has made a move yet.

Oh, Derek’s thought about it. Just last night, in fact, when Stiles stretched out on Derek’s sofa, feet up on the coffee table, eyes heavy-lidded while they watched some show on Netflix that Stiles had picked out. Derek put his arm across the back of the couch, nudged until Stiles tilted toward him, and Derek could let his hand fall on Stiles’s shoulder. It felt good and comfortable, and the slight uptick in Stiles’s heartbeat matched the flushed scent of pleasure and arousal.

Then Stiles sat up and excused himself to the bathroom, claiming he needed to splash some water on his face to wake up before driving home.

Derek thought about asking him to stay, but the words stuck in his throat. Stiles seemed to be in too much of a rush to leave.

He’s going to miss breakfast this morning, though, if Stiles shows. Derek woke up to a call from the station, and he’s heading straight to Berman road to look into their third locked room body in three weeks. Derek’s in the cruiser, a travel mug of coffee dangerously tilted in the drink holder, and a muffin half-crumbled on a plate on the passenger seat. He reaches over at a stoplight, picking off another bite of muffin and hurriedly eating, all the while ignoring the steady stream of texts rolling in on his phone.

When he pulls into the scene, he spots John’s cruiser parked by the side, a rental nearby. He glances at his phone and knows that some of those texts have to be John, and the rest are probably Rafe since he’s guessing the feds have been called in on this. He picks up the phone and tucks it into his pocket, gulps the last dregs of his coffee, and leaves the remainder of the muffin on the plate.

Time to forget about personal problems and get to work.

And there’s Rafe, standing on the steps talking to John. Rafe raises a hand, matched by John, and Derek nods as he reaches them.

“So this is federal now?” Derek asks.

“In cooperation with local authorities, yes,” Rafe replies. “It’s good to be working with you again. I’d like to hear your thoughts on the two prior cases, but right now, I’d like your opinion of the current scene. I’ve already got someone inside.”

“There hasn’t been any indication of something needing my expertise before,” Derek says quietly. “Or yours in particular.”

“It’s obvious we’ve got a serial killer,” John says dryly, and Derek nods, because that’s not in question.

“I know. But there hasn’t been anything unusual to mark these cases, other than the locked door.” He and Parrish have been over them with a fine tooth comb, because of the strangeness of the case, and the fact that there’s nothing at all is also unusual.

“I have a specialist,” Rafe says. “Just bringing them into the field for the first time, so be patient.” He waves at the door. “Go on in, Hale. I want to get finished here and attempt to visit my son. Since he’s currently speaking to me.”

That’s a conversation Derek’s not touching with a ten foot pole. He’s heard all too much about Rafe’s attempts to continue healing his relationship with Scott—as well as Rafe’s frustrations with Scott’s relationship with Malia. He’s not going to get involved.

Derek ducks under the tape and stands inside the living room, nostrils flared and eyes closed. Terror, yes, same as before. It suffuses the air, covers over the blend of personal scents below that. There’s a hint of elation, which he remembers from before as well, the only indication that someone else was here, someone pleased by the results.

Tallow.

That’s not a usual part of this scene, and Derek follows it into the back of the house, nudging open the door to one room with a creak.

“Stop,” a voice calls, low and a little lazy, cracking on the word unexpectedly at the end.

Derek does, looks down. There’s a candle on the floor, and a line of… not wolfsbane, not mountain ash. His nostrils flare, eyes furrowing, but he doesn’t recognize the substance. It rings the room, candles lit at various points. Nine candles, all flickering, while a suited figure crouches near the body slumped in the chair in the center of the room.

_Nice ass._

Derek swallows, inhaling again.

_Thanksgiving dinner. Potatoes._

What? Oh… he crouches down, still outside the door, reaches out until he’s almost touching the ring of powder. The figure inside coughs, and Derek stops himself before touching it. “Rosemary,” he says.

“For remembrance.” The agent stands, turns. “Hey, Derek. I’ve got breakfast sandwiches in my car if you want one.”

“Stiles.” Derek stays where he is, still crouched, unable to get past staring at him. He’s in a suit, his FBI badge peeking out from behind the jacket. The crisp white shirt is unbuttoned with no tie, a hint of chest hair peeking through.

He looks good.

He smells good, pleasure and arousal infusing the air, masking other scents in a sudden rush.

“I got called in, even though I’m on leave. I’m Rafe’s new magical expert,” Stiles says. The candles snuff as one, without Stiles touching them. When Derek still hasn’t moved, Stiles takes a step forward, smirking. “See something you like?”

It’s Derek’s own words echoed back at him, and the only possible answer is, “Yes.”

The scent of arousal is contaminating the scene. Or at least it’s distracting Derek too much to filter out.

“Dinner tonight,” Derek says quickly. “And breakfast tomorrow.” Which is no different than what they’ve been doing, except this time Derek means in the same place. “Wear the suit.”

Stiles’s eyebrows both go up. “You taking me somewhere nice?”

Derek shakes his head.

A flush spreads across Stiles’s cheeks. “Oh. Ah.” He watches as Derek rises, and Derek feels the heat of his gaze. “In that case. You’d better still be wearing the uniform.”

Yeah. Now they’re on the same page. “Right up until we’re not,” Derek murmurs.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Derek, you can’t say shit like that. I’m a probie. Rafe’s right out there, and you know they’re watching everything I do—”

Derek cocks his head, listens. “Your dad’s saying it’s about fucking time,” he mutters, trying not to laugh. “Rafe’s got a wolf on staff?”

“What, yeah, why? Oh. Shit.” Stiles shifts his stance, adjusts himself. “Maybe we um—”

“Should try to be professional?” Derek raises an eyebrow, laughing under his breath.

“You should leave now,” Stiles says, pointing at the door and ignoring the fact that Derek has yet to enter the room. “I have a few more rituals to do, then I’ll cleanse the room and you and Joe can come in and sniff to your heart’s desire.”

“Cleanse? Probably a good thing because right now, all I can smell is you.” Derek can’t resist it, even knowing that Joe—whoever he is—is apparently listening and reporting back to Rafe and John.

“Stop making this harder!” Stiles snaps, the flush even brighter. “Shit. You know what I mean. We have a case.”

“You’re in a suit,” Derek says mildly.

“And you’re in a uniform and I’ve managed not to jump you yet,” Stiles retorts. “I wasn’t even sure if you wanted me to.”

Wait, how? “I was flirting with you.”

“Usually you only flirt when you want information,” Stiles mutters, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “I thought you were celibate. And straight. I mean, you obviously know I’m not, given the….” He gestures from his crotch into the air, and Derek bites back a laugh. “But it’s not like you ever—I just figured, I don’t know.”

Derek’s pretty sure they’ve made things clear by now, but just in case, he’ll do this right. “Stiles. I’m bi. And yes, I see something I like, and so do you. And it’s been a long time, and we’re both adults, and we’re going to deal with this as soon as we can. So finish what you’re doing, so I can do my own job, and then we’ll have dinner tonight.”

Stiles licks his lips. “We’re leaving the office as soon as we’re both free. Rafe called me at four in the morning. I’m still on vacation. I don’t even officially start for three weeks still.”

“I’m working today.”

“My dad will give you time off just to stop me from hanging around the station all day.”

Stiles has a point. “Then you’d better be damned good at your job so we can close this case and get out of here,” Derek points out.

“Oh, I am damned good a my job,” Stiles says, smirking. He spreads his hands, his suit jacket opening, and shit it fits him perfectly, outlining a toned, fit body. Derek does his best to ignore the visible evidence of Stiles’s remaining arousal. “I’m good at everything I do.”

Derek drops his gaze, lets Stiles know that he’s looking at him. That he’s taking a good look, thinking about later. About stripping him. Arousal in the air again, and Stiles coughs.

“Can’t wait to see you prove it,” Derek murmurs.

He hears laughter somewhere in the distance as he leaves Stiles alone in the room. He’ll let Stiles do his rituals, while Derek checks things out in the rest of his house and does his damnedest not to think about stripping Stiles out of that suit later. Because damn it, Derek needs to be professional and presentable by the time he leaves this scene.

And Stiles is making that really, really hard.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr as [tryslora](http://tryslora.tumblr.com). If you like my fic, you might also like my original serial at [Welcome to PHU](http://welcometophu.tumblr.com).


End file.
